


Turn My Insides Out

by princessm44



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boys Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Mostly Fluff, Swearing, adrian plays matchmaker, angry marcus, library sexy times, not really any plot just marcus pining, pining marcus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6679207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessm44/pseuds/princessm44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marcus’ heart raced and he couldn't understand it because there was Wood. Just standing there, his dark brown eyes looking up at Marcus and Marcus never really thought much of the color of <em>anyone's<em></em></em> eyes, least of all <em>Wood’s.<em></em></em> But now up close like this, dark pools of chocolate brown staring at him, the stubborn look of dedication...they seemed oddly...perfect.</p><p>Or the one where Marcus has a realization on the quidditch pitch and Adrian plays matchmaker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turn My Insides Out

**Author's Note:**

> heeeey so ya heres my short lil marcus/oliver school fic that i had way too much fun writing. no beta reader so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> a tad bit of sexual content, not much and its pretty mild.
> 
> btw i read a fic once (can't remember author or name) where percy and adrian kinda helped the boys out with their feelings and thats pretty much where the inspiration for adrian being all matchmaker came from, fyi.

_ "What the bloody hell was that?!" _ Oliver Wood yelled, stomping towards Marcus with his broom in his hands, his voice furious. 

Marcus only smirked. He _ really _ enjoyed seeing Wood all angry and flushed like that. In fact, pushing Wood until he snapped never failed to make Marcus’ day just  _ that _ much better.

Wood pushed past the other Slytherin quidditch players, his eyes never leaving Marcus. And Marcus felt a shiver of pleasure at watching Wood stalk over to him. He was ready for this fight. Maybe even Wood would get so mad he would throw a punch.  _ Yeah, that would be nice, _ Marcus thought, _ then I could really lay into him. _ The thought of pinning Wood to the ground, _ watching him squirm, _ sent a funny jolt through his body. He blamed the adrenaline. 

“You dirty cheating sum,” Wood spat, finally-- _ finally _ \--coming face to face with Marcus.

Marcus grinned. He loved watching Wood loose control. Wood only ever got like this over quidditch. Whenever Marcus saw him in the halls or eating dinner, the boy was laughing and joking and just generally behaving like a bloody typical Gryffindor. But out here on the pitch, he was determined and competitive, bent on beating Marcus no matter what it took. 

Well, of course, no cheating or playing dirty. Gryffindor honor and all. 

The thought made Marcus snicker and Wood’s eyes widened in anger.

“What’s so funny Flint?” Wood scowled. His eyebrows pinching together in a way that was almost  _ endearing...  _ Marcus jolted at the thought.  _ And yeah, that was fucking weird, _ Marcus mentally shook his head, trying to clear his mind. 

Wood scoffed, too irritated to notice the odd look on Marcus’ face.“You're such an arse.” He spat and it was clear that Wood was waiting for some kind of rude remark from Marcus or even something more violent. But Marcus’ mind was blank, all his normal insults dying on his tongue.

Wood rolled his eyes at Marcus’ silence, “Why am I even surprised,” Wood muttered, “The only way you could ever beat us is by cheating anyways.” Wood had his arms crossed in a very petulant way that would have Marcus smirking on any normal day. But for some reason, Marcus just couldn't  _ focus. _ His mouth suddenly felt dry and when he swallowed his throat seemed to want to close up. 

Marcus’ heart raced and he couldn't understand it because there was Wood. Just standing there, his dark brown eyes looking up at Marcus and Marcus never really thought much of the color of  _ anyone's _ eyes, least of all _ Wood’s.  _ But now up close like this, dark pools of chocolate brown staring at him, the stubborn look of dedication...they seemed oddly...perfect.

Marcus froze.  _ What the fuck...what the actual fuck!  _ The permanent scowl falling off his face so abruptly that Wood stopped looking angry and just looked confused.  _ I didn’t really just think those words. Please tell me I didn’t actually just have a running dialogue in my own bloody head about the color of Wood’s eyes!?! _

Marcus’ face paled, then his cheeks flushed even though he knew Wood couldn’t hear a damn thing that was going through his mind. But still. It was embarrassing all the same.

Really embarrassing. 

So embarrassing in fact, that Marcus felt as if he might vomit. Right here on the field, right on Olivers shoes-- _ And holy fuck, you just referred to him as  _ Oliver.  _ What the fucking fuck is wrong with you?! I must be coming down with something, I feel strange. Not well. Sick. _

“Er, Flint? You, uh okay?” Wood asked awkwardly, but he sounded oddly concerned. No trace of any previous anger. And that just did not sit well with Marcus. 

So Marcus did what he does and shoved Wood hard so that he fell on his arse in the grass. Wood had his mouth open, looking surprised and just a tiny bit hurt.  _ Which just didn’t make since, _ Marcus thought frantically.

“Fucking piss off and leave me alone.” Marcus growled and stormed off before he did something really stupid. He had to clench his fist and grit teeth so he wouldn’t look over his shoulder. 

So he wouldn’t see if Oliver was still sitting in the grass, confused and alone. 

  
  


                                                                             o0o

 

Marcus was a good liar. 

It was something he took pride in. He liked that he could say one thing when really meaning another and no one would second guess him. It gave him a sense of detachment that he preferred. And really, he hated talking to almost everyone. If there was less truth in his words, they would never need to know and Marcus  _ liked it that way. _

So when this whole bloody fuck up with Oliver happened, it kinda sent Marcus’ mind spiraling. 

For one, he couldn’t help but feel as if his very inner secrets were written out on his forehead in plain sight. That thought made him nervous, which in turn made him behave like a scared animal, skittish and defensive. It was simple, Marcus was paranoid. 

When he spoke to someone in Charms he wondered if they could tell that he hadn’t slept for almost two weeks because the thought of brown eyes and a hard mouth on his kept him awake until he could hardly bare it and just  _ had  _ to wank. Or in the Great Hall at breakfast, when he didn’t steal a scone off Puceys plate like usual and Adrian had given him an odd look. Did he know that Marcus dreamed about a pale hand touching his own, a hand that was definitely attached to a bloke? And not just any bloke but a very,  _ very _ specific one? 

Was Marcus’ new found realization on the quidditch pitch involving Oliver as blindly obvious to everyone as Marcus thought, or did it just seem that way because it was now so clear to Marcus himself? 

These were the questions that filled his head. He could hardly think of anything else. And that fact alone, that Marcus couldn’t stop thinking about  _ Oliver Wood, _ was enough to send him into a full-blown panic. 

It wasn’t the reality that he was a boy that bothered Marcus (though he would have to admit it was a bit surprising, seeing as Marcus never thought he had a preference for  _ anyone,  _ male  _ or  _ female) No, the thing which really worried Marcus was he was meant to  _ hate  _ Oliver. He was supposed to fantasize about bashing the stupid Gryffindors face in,  _ not _ pop boners in class because he couldn’t stop thinking of the way Oliver had looked that day on the quidditch pitch. 

But it wasn’t just that one day that was in Marcus’ mind. 

It was  _ every _ game and  _ every  _ practice that Oliver looked like that. All flushed from the exercise, his dark eyes shining brightly, totally focused on the game. On winning. 

The very image made Marcus shiver with delight, which just managed to piss him off even more. The scowl on his face deepened and he purposely stomped his feet as he walked through the hallways of the castle.

It was morning and Marcus was making his way to the Great Hall, sitting next to Pucey when he got there but not engaging in any conversation. Just angrily biting into a scone while unconsciously glaring across the room at Oliver as he drank some tea and smiled at something someone at his table had said. 

“Why are you staring at Wood for?” Pucey asked curiously, “We played them about,” He scrunched his eyebrows in thought, “two weeks ago, right? And we won, so what’s with the death glare?”

Marcus scowled, not looking away from Wood, “I hate him.” 

Pucey gave him an odd look that Marcus didn't see. “Yeah...I know that. But you usually hate him most right before or after a game. And it’s been two weeks like I said. What happened? Did you run into him? Did he say something to you?”

“For fucks sakes Adrian,” Marcus snapped, finally looking over at Pucey, “Whats with all the fucking questions? Am I on trial? Fuck. Let me eat my fucking breakfast in peace will ya’?”

“No need to get snappy Marcus. Just curious is all.” 

“Yeah, well stop it,” Marcus grunted, his gaze back on the Gryffindor table. 

Oliver caught his eye and his heart unwillingly started to beat faster. Wood looked like he was trying to glare but really only managed to look confused, his face scrunching up in a question and Marcus would  _ never  _ admit that he looked fucking adorable like that. Because fuck all if that wasn’t the most  _ embarrassing _ thought Marcus had ever had. 

But Marcus still continued to stare and was jealous of everyone that Oliver talked to. _Because fucking hell,_ I _want to talk to him_ , Marcus thought desperately and kind of hated himself but he just couldn't stop looking at the boy. 

Oliver tried to pretend like he didn’t notice but every minute or so his eyes would drift back to Marcus and he stopped trying to look mad and just looked oddly concerned. Like he did on the quidditch pitch that day. Marcus barely had time to wonder what that meant before Oliver mouthed,  _ what? _ at him. Not mean. Not angry. Just genuinely curious. 

Marcus’ insides felt as if they were being torn out and he didn’t know why Oliver was making him feel this way only that he  _ hated  _ it and he fucking  _ hated  _ Oliver Wood as well. He couldn't even manage a proper sneer and he knew his expression must be wide open right now because Oliver tilted his head a little, eyebrows pinching together in thought as he stared right back at Marcus.

“Wood’s looking at you now.” Pucey’s voice jolted Marcus out of his thoughts and he turned towards his fellow Slytherin with a glare. 

“Really, what’s going on between you two, huh?” Pucey asked, taking a drink of his pumpkin juice. 

“Nothings fucking going on Adrian,” Marcus growled, angrier than he should be but Puceys question made him squirm. “Bloody fuck off with the questions already.” 

Pucey rolled his eyes slightly amused, “Always so dramatic Marcus.” But he turned back to his breakfast and left Marcus alone for the rest of the morning. 

Marcus slumped lower in his seat, sulking a bit and now very purposely  _ not  _ looking over at the Gryffindor table. Fucking Pucey. 

  
  


That night Marcus laid awake in the dark for a long time. The only sounds coming from the soft snores of his roommates. 

His mind replayed what had happened over breakfast in the Great Hall that morning. Oliver’s face wiped clean of any traces of anger. His mouth hanging slightly open, probably wet and tasting of tea, mouthing the word  _ what? _ and Marcus squeezed his eyes tightly shut. 

He didn’t want to think of those lips or how it felt to have Oliver look at him with no malice in his eyes. Marcus reckoned that besides that day on the pitch, Oliver had never looked at him like that before. That there had never been a time where Oliver’s expression was neutral instead of competitive or just fucking furious.

It made Marcus feel...odd. And slightly  _ good. _ Which made him fucking miserable. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking of how it would feel to have Oliver  _ smile at him.  _ What it might sound like to make Oliver laugh...to hear him breathe Marcus’ name, over and over again like he was  _ starving  _ for  _ Marcus. _

He made a small noise in the back of his throat and Marcus knew he was so fucking done when he hesitantly slipped a hand under the blanket and palmed himself through his pants. 

Pale skin and a freckled nose, dark wide eyes staring up at him, asking for  _ more more more. _ His mind raced and Marcus couldn’t hold back any longer as he shucked his pants down his thighs and took hold of his dick firmly. 

For a seventeen-year-old boy, Marcus didn’t masturbate nearly as often as some of the boys he knew did. He tended to focus most of his time and energy on quidditch and well, he just wasn’t all that interested in sex. Therefore, he never had much wank material to think about and his imagination was shit. Of course, that had all been true prior two weeks ago, before Oliver Wood had sent Marcus’ mind spiraling down the rabbit hole. Now he could hardly go through a single night  _ without  _ touching himself. And really it didn’t take long before one the most intense orgasms he’s ever had ripped through his body, leaving him panting and feeling hot all over.

And if he breathed out Oliver’s name when he came, well no one would ever know.

 

                                                              o0o

 

It was only two days later that Marcus reluctantly found himself in the Library. The Slytherin was failing pretty much every class, besides Herbology. Which he would never  _ ever  _ admit was his best subject by far. 

He was sitting in the back, as far away from anyone as possible. He was grumpy and sulking and just generally hating life when he heard a familiar voice from the other side of the bookcase that made his stomach feel heavy and a bit like he wanted to vomit. 

“I just don’t know what to do anymore.” Oliver Wood sighed. He sounded annoyed and maybe kind of sad, Marcus couldn’t tell exactly, but it made him sit up straight and listen harder. “He is literally the  _ worst. _ I mean you’ve seen him Perce, how am I supposed to work with that?” 

Marcus had no idea what Oliver was talking about but he liked to listen to his voice. Marcus never got to just  _ hear _ Oliver talk because they weren’t exactly on  _ speaking terms. _ And as much as Marcus didn’t want to admit it, this was actually quite nice. He only hoped Oliver wouldn’t keep walking this way or he would be seen. Fucking studying, no less.

He heard a second voice that sounded dull and frightfully boring, “I hardly know what you want me to tell you, Oliver. You spend two years hating him and now all of a sudden you--”

“That's  _ not  _ true!” Oliver raised his voice, “I’ve  _ always _ wanted--” Oliver’s voice cut out with a squeak as he and Percy Weasley stepped from behind the bookcase. His eyes zeroed in on Marcus. 

He looked nervous and his cheeks turned pink like he was embarrassed.  _ That's definitely new, _ Marcus thought with a confused frown.

“Oh. Uh, Flint.” Oliver stuttered and maybe Marcus should glare or sneer or  _ something, _ but instead, he just raised an eyebrow in a, what-the-bloody-hell-do-you-want, look. Percy elbowed Oliver in the side before turning around and walking away without a word. He doubts Oliver even realized because he just kept fucking staring at Marcus the whole time. 

“I--I’ve never seen you here before. In the Library I mean.” 

Marcus shrugged. 

Oliver takes a couple steps forward to look at the books on the table, “Are you  _ studying?" _ He asked in an incredulous tone. 

Marcus let out an irritated breath, “No I come here for the atmosphere. Of course, I’m bloody studying.”

“Oh my god.” Oliver snorted which was _kind_ _of_ a laugh. Either way, Marcus’ insides turned to honey at the sound. “Please don’t tell me you just made a joke. We need to alert The Daily Prophet, send the Ministry an owl.” Oliver teased easily and Marcus was now _very_ fucking confused, so he masked it the only way he knew how. With indifference. 

“Shut up.” He glared. “And leave me alone. If I don’t get a good mark on this I won’t--Just fuck off now, okay?”

Oliver ignored his protests and walked right up to the table.  _ The exact opposite of what I just fucking said. _ Marcus clenched his jaw and tried to focus his attention on literally  _ anything _ else but how close Oliver now was to him.

“Well, what subject is it?” Oliver asked looking down at the books, “I could help.” He offered casually like he and Oliver study together all the time. Like their fucking friends. 

_ "What?" _ Marcus blurted, “Wha--Why--I mean why would you--” Marcus flustered and open and closed his mouth a couple time before snapping his eyes away from Oliver. “I have to go.” He lied and shoved the books into his arms quickly without looking back at the boy. 

He knew there was a reason why he never went to the fucking library. 

  
  


“You know,” Pucey began and Marcus wanted to bang his head into the wall. 

He was lying on his bed alone. His head pounding with thoughts of Oliver and being very bloody confused as to why he would have offered to help him  _ study  _ when Adrian came up from the Common Room, playing nonchalant and sitting down on his own bed. It hadn’t even been five minutes before he started talking in that tone like he and Marcus were about to have a heart to heart. 

_ God, he is such a bloody Hufflepuff sometimes,  _ Marcus thought as Pucey cleared his throat.

“You know if you weren’t such an arsehole Oliver might actually like you.” He said casually, and Marcus nearly choked on his own saliva. 

“Just some advice,” Pucey stated quickly, hoping Marcus wouldn’t jump out of his bed and punch him in the face.

“What?” He growled, barely moving his jaw to speak. 

Pucey sighed, “I said Oliver might actually like you if--”

“I know what you said. Don’t fucking say it again!” Marcus practically yelled and had to take a long minute to get his breathing under control before he could speak again. 

“What. The. Hell. Are you talking about Adrian.” Pucey opened his mouth and Marcus barked out, “And  _ don’t  _ fucking say Wood’s name again.”

“I was just talking to Weasley, on prefect’s duty you know? And well...we both thought that maybe you know, if you weren’t such a dick you might get somewhere with Wood...Or something.” Pucey finished, sounding a lot less confident than when he first started.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I--”

Pucey stood up, “Look, Marcus, it's okay. No one  _ cares." _ He walked to the door and before leaving said, “Just try not to be such a dick, yeah?” 

Marcus rolled onto his stomach and groaned into his pillow. He should probably kill Adrain for saying something like that. He really should. But instead, Marcus only curled onto his side and thought of brown eyes and felt horribly alone. 

 

                                                           o0o

_ 2 Weeks Later _

 

It was probably a stupid idea to go to the pitch for a fly that evening. Considering it was only Tuesday and Marcus had a rather long Potions essay to write. But he needed a distraction bad and went fast to the quidditch locker room after a non-existent dinner. 

Pucey had been insufferable, asking stupid questions and giving him knowing looks the whole time that made Marcus feel irritated and jumpy. 

That and the fact that Oliver had left rather early, without eating a single thing. But what really bothered Marcus was that the boy had only taken one glance at him the entire meal. 

Which was strange because ever since the library incident Marcus would find Oliver’s eyes on him  _ constantly. _ Whether it be across the Great Hall, in between classes, or on the pitch, Oliver would stare. Giving him odd looks that did nothing to help Marcus focus, even on a broom. And  _ no fucking way _ would Oliver take the joy of flying from him. That thought was just too fucked up for Marcus to even consider. 

Pucey asked where he was going and Marcus only shrugged and left. Pucey was probably rolling his eyes at Marcus’ ‘dramatic’ departure but he didn’t care. 

Marcus just needed these stupid thoughts to go  _ away. _

And yeah. Marcus knew the second he rounded the corner in the locker room and saw a half naked Oliver Wood, that it had been a very stupid idea indeed.

Oliver was shirtless, wearing  _ green pants(!) _ and turned away from Marcus, looking through a bag of gear. Marcus gritted his teeth because  _ of course _ he would be here. That’s probably why he left dinner so early. 

_ Stupid. Fucking stupid idea, _ Marcus thought angrily as his eyes raked across the boy’s body.

Oliver wasn’t as tall as Marcus but he was  _ lanky,  _ with long limbs and skinny wrists. He could tell he had just gotten out of the shower because his hair was still wet and clinging to his neck. Marcus watched a bead of water drip down his shoulder blade and he wanted to lean over and  _ taste-- _

_ I should leave,  _ Marcus thought frantically, still staring at his damp, pale back. Oliver had freckled shoulders and three moles going down his right side vertically. It reminded Marcus of Orion's Belt and-- _ fucking hell, I definitely need to leave. Like right now. Just walk out the door, he hasn't even turned around yet, maybe-- _

Then Oliver's glanced over his shoulder and jumped back a little, his eyes wide in surprise. _ "Holy fuck, _ Marcus.” Oliver gasped, letting out a held breath, “You scared the shit outta me.” He said as he turned his whole body to face Marcus, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

Marcus glowered, “What the bloody hell are  _ you  _ doing here Wood?” He hissed. Oliver’s face fell a bit at Marcus’ harsh tone before it quickly smoothed out, leaving Marcus to wonder if he had even seen it there at all.

Oliver rolled his eyes, “I’m getting dressed, obviously.” He motioned a hand down his naked torso and Marcus swallowed thickly.

“Of course, you're so dim you probably need house elves to dress you,” Oliver stated in a haughty tone like he was trying to be causally mean but that just kind of turned Marcus on even more, much to his horror. 

He stalked right up to Oliver and pushed him until his back slammed against the lockers. Marcus raised his arms, caging his body. Oliver’s eyes widened in fear but he still held his chin up defiantly. Marcus smirked. 

“You think you're so brave,” Marcus growled, not needing to talk loud because their faces were only a few inches apart. He lifted a hand and laid it in the dip of Oliver’s collar bone. He slid it up his neck and tightened his hold, making Oliver suck in a breath.

“Not so brave now.” Marcus sneered and Oliver scowled as he tried to push Marcus away but Marcus just pressed his other hand against Oliver’s shoulder to keep him from moving. His skin was warm and he smelled like the soap they kept in the shower stalls. 

_ "Let me go,  _ Marcus," _ _ Oliver grunted, trying to twist away. His face flushed in anger and wet locks of brown hair fell into his eyes as he struggled.

He managed to get an elbow in Marcus’ ribs and Marcus growled pushing his hips to Oliver's, pressing him harder against the metal lockers. Oliver winced and Marcus smirked wider.  _ Because causing Oliver pain is familiar ground, at least,  _ Marcus thought and pushed once more. Oliver winced again but this time, it sounded more like a gasp. Marcus frowned, slightly confused until he looked down and saw his thigh in between Oliver’s legs, pressed tightly against Oliver’s dick. Which he could  _ feel  _ through the thin material of Oliver's pants. 

And fucking shit.  _ Holy fucking shit, it’s so hot. _

Oliver met his eyes, but he didn’t look scared or angry anymore just flushed and confused. There was a long stretch of silence where neither one of them dared to move. 

Everything Marcus wanted and hated most was  _ right here. _ Right under his hands, where he could still feel the heat from Oliver’s skin and  _ god dammit, _ he wanted so fucking much it scared him. 

Oliver must have seen something in Marcus’ face then because he slowly moved his head forward, keeping his eyes on Marcus’ the whole time before they finally fluttered shut. Marcus furrowed his brows, not quite sure what Oliver meant to do until he tilted his head up slightly, his mouth searching for Marcus’. And oh.  _ Oh. _

Oliver Wood wanted to kiss him. 

Fucking hell. 

Marcus’ eyes bulged and he took a step back, letting both his hands drop like they had been burned. Oliver didn’t move forward but his mouth was parted slightly, his eyes still closed like he was waiting for Marcus to lean in and…  _ No. No no no no.  _

This moment was huge. This moment changed  _ everything _ if Marcus let it.

Marcus panicked. 

He wasn’t thinking when he pulled his arm back, his fist connecting with Oliver’s nose. It was just a reflex at this point and he fucking hated himself when he felt a hot gush of blood on his knuckles. 

_ "Ow!”  _ Oliver yelled, holding his nose while red dripped down into his mouth and chin. 

“What the hell Marcus!” And Marcus realized in that moment that Oliver had been saying  _ his name _ every time he opened his mouth.  _ And now his mouth is all red and bloody because you punched him in the fucking nose, idiot! _

_ _ "Fuck--I don’t know why I did that,” Marcus whispered frantically, his heart beating fast. He feels like an arsehole. He feels  _ worse  _ than an arsehole but he also couldn’t help but curse himself for feeling  _ anything _ at all. 

“I’m so sorr--” Marcus started, then snapped his mouth shut. He and Oliver both froze. Oliver’s expression going from angry to completely shocked. And it was clear from the look on his face that he totally already fucking knew what Marcus was about to say. 

Oliver stared at him. Marcus feels his cheeks heat up. Shit. 

He expected Oliver to say a lot of things but,  _ “You're an imposter. You've kidnapped the real Marcus Flint, haven’t you?”  _ isn’t one of them. He’s not mad, or not as mad as he should be considering he just got punched in the nose. He sounded suspicious and after a beat, he raises an eyebrow like a question. It looks almost comical with red blood dripping down his chin.

Marcus’ brows are pinched together in confusion as Oliver continued, “You could be using polyjuice potion right now. Trying to pretend to be him. Well let me just tell you, you’ve done a piss-poor job of it.” Marcus just stares at him in disbelief. More blood trickles out of his nose and Marcus’ hand twitched to grab his wand and do a quick healing spell. He repressed the urge and mentally screamed at himself for being so fucking  _ soft. _

“I mean _come on_!” Oliver flails, making Marcus flinch at his sudden enthusiasm, “Marcus does _not_ _apologize_ after causing pain to a Gryffindor. In fact, he doesn’t apologize at all. Ever. That's like--like Marcus Flint 101!” Oliver huffs exasperated and finally shuts up. He looks at Marcus expectantly. Like he’s waiting for a reasonable answer for all of this. Marcus just wants to punch him in the nose again.

He feels himself bite the inside of his lip hard enough to taste blood, his mouth twisted in anger. Then Marcus is pushing Oliver back into the lockers again with a loud _thud_. “Don’t you dare say a fucking word or I _swear to god_ you’ll get it bad.” 

Oliver scoffed, “Do you promise?” Voice a mixture of teasing and contempt. His dark eyes shimmered with something Marcus couldn’t name. But it turned his heart to jelly all the same. 

Marcus opened and closed his mouth. He wanted to hit him, he wanted to make him bleed again. He wanted to tell Oliver how much he fucking hated his guts because he couldn’t stop thinking about him and it was driving him bloody  _ mental. _

But mostly Marcus just wanted to kiss him. 

And Marcus never felt more like a coward than in that moment, when he abruptly spun around and bolted for the door. Leaving Oliver in all his--non-cowardice--behind. He felt a sense of deja vu and vaguely wondered how many more times this scene would play out before he really lost all control of the situation.

Needless to say, he was totally screwed.

 

                                                                     o0o

 

Marcus spends two days in bed, telling himself over and over that Oliver hadn’t  _ really  _ meant to almost kiss him. That it was just Marcus’ own fucked up desires making him see things that weren't really there. That Oliver didn’t want him like  _ that.  _ Because why would he, when all Marcus does is call him names and make him bleed? 

It was the only reasonable explanation. And after all, it wasn’t like Oliver had said anything about a  _ kiss. _ (Marcus cringed at the word every time.) He had just babbled about polyjuice potion and kidnapping and  _ god,  _ Marcus felt so bloody  _ stupid. _

He’s scowled at his bed curtains, which he had angrily pulled shut just a couple hours before when Pucey had tried to ask why he was in such a foul mood and if it happened to involve a certain Gryffindor Keeper. He resisted the urge for violence and instead flung himself down onto his bed and had been there ever since. 

The silence was only too good to be true when halfway through dinner, Pucey barged in and ripped the curtains open. 

Marcus jumped a little at the sudden invasion, “Some bloody privacy, Adrian. Fuck.” 

He ignored Marcus and just said, _ "Really, _ Marcus?” In a tone like Marcus should already know what the hell he was talking about. “Even after I told you, you still went and--I thought I told you not to be a dick!”

“What the fuck are you talking about? And shouldn’t you be at dinner--”

“About Wood!  _ Oliver. _ You were supposed to be  _ nice,  _ Marcus.” Pucey exclaimed, throwing up his arms, and it was the most vocal Marcus had ever seen him. 

Marcus didn’t yell or get angry he just stared at his blanket in a sulking manner. Because yeah, Pucey told him to play nice but when had Marcus Flint ever been known to play nice with  _ anyone? _ Least of all with Oliver Wood, who he hated by the way.

Or at least used to hate. Marcus really doesn’t know when he stopped. 

Pucey let out a disappointed sigh, his voice quiet, “Percy just told me what happened. You can’t keep pushing him away or--”

Marcus shot out of bed and glared, “You and fucking Weasley don’t know  _ anything.”  _

Pucey rolled his eyes and Marcus pushed against his shoulder,  _ “So stay out of it. Or else.” _ He threatened and Adrian left, telling Marcus he was making things a lot more difficult than they needed to be. 

And Marcus knew he was right. Fucking Pucey.

 

                                                                  o0o

 

Marcus really doesn’t know what he was thinking. 

The match that Saturday wasn’t even for Slytherin. It was Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor and Marcus told himself he was only there for the quidditch. 

_ Just quidditch,  _ Marcus thought to himself sternly.  _ Because I enjoy quidditch so much. Because I am definitely  _ not _ kinda, sorta, in love with the Gryffindor keeper. Nope. Just here for a good game of quidditch. That's. All. _

And if that was even a little bit true he probably wouldn’t have spent the whole game just staring at Oliver and feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. 

It because of that very reason that after the game, Marcus found himself standing in the broom shed, pacing back and forth, trying to think of something semi-intelligent to say that wouldn't sound completely  _ stupid _ and failing horribly. 

He waited for Oliver, knowing the keeper always came to the broom shed after a match and that the rest of his team would already be up in their Common Room celebrating by now. He and Oliver would be alone. Which would make this whole situation a lot easier but no less embarrassing. 

He was so lost in his own thoughts he didn’t even hear the door open until Oliver was standing  _ right there. _ “Marcus?” Oliver’s voice broke the air and Marcus froze in mid-pace. 

“What um, what are you doing here?” Oliver asked tentatively, taking a couple steps forward like he was dealing with a scared animal. 

Marcus opened his mouth but he could only stare because  _ fucking hell _ Oliver looked  _ good. _ He was still in his quidditch uniform, his cheeks were flushed pink from the wind and his hair was messy and tousled. He licked his lips, leaving them wet and shiny. Marcus followed the movement and wanted nothing more than to feel that mouth on his but that's not what he was here for. Marcus was here to be...nice.

_ Right? _

“Marcus?” Oliver said again and  _ fuck _ Marcus really wished he would stop saying his name. 

He cleared his throat and brought a hand through his hair nervously. Oliver watched him with widened eyes. He scuffed his shoes on the ground and without looking at Oliver said, “I just wanted to, to say--um you know, you--Fuck.” He muttered to himself before taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, “You weren’t complete shit out there.” He admitted in one long breath and opened his eyes to see Oliver looking amused, if a little surprised. 

If it was any other time Marcus knew this would end in a fight but he thought perhaps they were passed that now because Oliver was actually  _ smiling  _ at him. 

“I guess I should take that as a compliment, coming from you.” 

Marcus frowned, thinking maybe he was still being an arsehole but really he didn’t think he could say anything  _ nicer  _ than  _ that. _

“I mean--” Marcus began with uncertainty before Oliver cut him off.

“No, no it's fine.” Oliver assured him, taking another step closer until they were only a few inches apart, “Really, it's...good.” His voice so quiet he practically whispered the last word. His dark brown eyes gazing over Marcus’ face in a way no one ever had looked at him before. It made Marcus feel naked and exposed. He crossed his arms self-consciously. 

“Pucey said I should apologize about before. You know…in the locker room.” Marcus explained. His voice still a tad bit harsher than what Adrian would have wanted and Marcus still wouldn’t look Oliver in the eyes but it was  _ something _ and Oliver didn’t seem to take offense, not in the slightest.

“That's--That means a lot. Thanks, Marcus.” And Marcus wanted to jump out of his skin because he could feel Oliver’s fingers lightly tracing around his wrist.  _ What the hell is he playing at?  _ Marcus thought frantically.

And the moment suddenly felt too heavy for Marcus. Like they were right on the cusp of something that Marcus just wasn’t ready for yet. He pulled his hand away and watched Oliver’s face turn into a small frown.

“Teams probably waiting for you. Should head back.” Marcus grunted, trying to will away the pink that wanted to invade his cheeks. Because Oliver had fucking  _ touched _ him. 

They walked back to the castle together in silence. Oliver had seemed deep in thought the whole time. Right as Oliver was about to turn to leave Marcus caught his wrist, giving it a firm squeeze before letting it drop and practically running down the hall so he wouldn’t think of what he just did. 

So he wouldn't think of what he just left behind. 

  
  


When he arrived at the Common Room that evening, Pucey was waiting for him with a big smile. Marcus groaned, “Leave me alone Adrian.” But his words held no bite or maybe Pucey was used to it by now because he just smiled wider and followed him up the stairs to their dormitory. 

After Adrian shut the door Marcus spun around and blurted, “Before you say anything, _nothing_ fucking happened.” Pucey opened his mouth but Marcus continued with a hard glare, “And _nothing's_ _going_ to happen.”

Pucey leaned against the dresser with a smirk, “That's not what I heard.” He sing songed and Marcus  _ really  _ wanted to punch him in the face. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Nothing just you know, you getting all friendly with Oliver.” Pucey grinned and walked over to thump him on the back, “Knew you could do it.” Pucey said and Marcus clenched his jaw.

“I hate you.”

Pucey laughed getting into his bed, “You don’t hate everyone nearly as much as you think you do Marcus.” 

 

                                                                              o0o

 

The first morning after the awkward wrist touching with Oliver began like this; Marcus arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast and sat in an empty seat. As he went to grab himself a scone a familiar voice behind him said, “Hey uh, Marcus?”

At the sound of Oliver’s voice Marcus dropped the scone and in his haste to turn around his knee knocked the table, spilling a glass of pumpkin juice all over himself and the table cloth. 

“Shit,” He muttered and before he could grab his wand to do a cleaning spell, Oliver had crouched into the empty seat next to him and with a handful napkins, he attempted to pat dry Marcus’ lap with a string of apologies tumbling out of his mouth. 

_ "Fuck," _ Marcus hissed under his breath because  _ holy shit, _ that was Oliver’s hand all pressed into his… _ Oh god, no. No, no, no please no,  _ Marcus frantically thought as he began to feel himself harden under his robes.

“Crap,” Oliver blurted, “I’m such an arsehole. I shouldn’t have-- Here let me just--” He nervously began pressing harder to soak up all the juice and Marcus had to bite his lip to keep from making any sounds.

It was probably the most embarrassing situation Marcus had ever been in.  _ Ever.  _

Because as a rule, Marcus generally avoided any type of situation that could get even a little awkward. But these past couples weeks had been filled with them. Not to mention they  _ always  _ seemed to have one very significant thing in common. Oliver Wood. Though Marcus would have to admit that this one definitely took the cake in Most Embarrassing Moments Ever.

“Are you a wizard or a fucking squib?” He hissed, pushing Oliver’s hands away from his body before any serious damage was done. 

Oliver tilted his head in confusion. “What’re you talking abou--”

_ "Magic!”  _ Marcus said hotly, he knew his cheek must be beat red, hell, even his breathing was heavy. Fuck. “Fucking  _ magic,  _ Oliver.” He said again, furiously pulling his wand out and casting a scourgify. He ignored the way his hand shook.

He quickly (and maybe a little too forcibly) pushed the bench back from the table and made his way to the door as fast as he could.

Marcus was half way to Charms before he realized that he had called Oliver by his first name. 

  
  


The next week it happened again.

Oliver had somehow caught Marcus after practice. Running towards him with a yell, his cheeks, and nose tinted pink from the cold, red and gold scarf whipping behind him. Oliver grinned crookedly at Marcus as he rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

Marcus frowned at him.

Oliver huffed out a laugh, “You walk fast.” He said.

“I was trying to get away from you,” Marcus replied and Oliver just smiled wider. 

“Don’t want to be seen patronizing with the enemy?” He asked, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. 

Marcus shrugged, _ I’m afraid I’ll kiss you. _

“More like your annoying.” He grunted, folding his arms and looking away. 

Oliver let out a loud laugh as he stood up straight, “If I’m annoying then your insufferable.” He said, leaning forward slightly on the balls of his feet. His voice sounded excited,  _ happy.  _

Marcus took a step back, he still wouldn’t let himself look at Oliver. He didn’t want to see him standing too close. He didn’t want to see his  _ smile.  _ Marcus wanted to run, he wanted to hide. He wanted to be as far away from Oliver as he could because this feeling bubbling in the depths of his chest  _ hurt. _

The sound of laughter and yelling drifted across the pitch and someone called Oliver’s name. Oliver looked over his shoulder and waved before he turned his attention back to Marcus.

“I guess I’ll see you at the game tomorrow.” Oliver said too casually, the words coming out more like a question than a statement. If Marcus didn’t know any better he would think Oliver sounded  _ nervous. _

Marcus snapped his head up then, his eyes meeting Oliver’s. The boy’s expression was wide open and almost  _ hopeful _ as he chewed on his bottom lip waiting for an answer. Marcus just swallowed thickly. 

After realizing Marcus wasn’t going to respond Oliver quickly blurted out, “I’d say Ravenclaw will win but have you  _ seen _ Hufflepuff’s new seeker? Their bloody fast.” 

Marcus scoffed at the idea, “Not fucking likely.” 

“Oh really?” Oliver asked, smiling up at Marcus and  _ god, why was he so bloody close.  _

“You wanna bet?” 

The way he said it sounded...odd. _ _ Oliver’s voice going low and playful. Marcus had a mad thought that perhaps he was flirting. That Oliver Wood was fucking _ flirting _ with him. He felt his heart beat kick up, his mind racing with half-formed thoughts of  _ what if. _

Marcus opened his mouth, not really knowing what he was going to say when one of the Gryffindors called for Oliver again. Oliver huffed an annoyed sigh and said to Marcus, “Sorry--gotta go.” Giving him a small smile, Oliver nudged Marcus’ shoulder lightly and said, “See you tomorrow Marcus.” 

Standing there in the cold, still in his quidditch gear, Marcus couldn’t help but think those four words sounded strangely intimate. 

Oliver took half a step backwards when Marcus shot his hand out, grabbing onto Oliver’s arm to stop him from moving. “Wait--Oliver.”

Oliver jumped a little at the sudden contact and looked at Marcus’ hand resting on his forearm with wide, surprised eyes.

Marcus quickly let his hand drop and said, “I won’t be at the match tomorrow.” He didn’t know why he felt like he needed to tell Oliver that, only it seemed oddly significant. 

Oliver scrunched his eyebrows together, “Why not?”

“Gotta fucking study for Potions on Monday.” Marcus explained with a bitter tone.

“Oh, well. That’s--um, that's...fine.” Oliver frowned deeply, his previous excitement vanished. Marcus wondered curiously if it was because Oliver wouldn’t see him at the game tomorrow. 

Marcus watched Oliver walk away, feeling both anxious and hopeful at the same time.

 

                                                               o0o

 

The minutes seemed to tick by painfully slow. Marcus, slumped over a potions book, reading the same sentence over and over again, couldn’t help but let his mind wander. 

And of course, the first place his thoughts went to was Oliver. 

_ Oliver.  _ He couldn’t help but think of those dark brown eyes, hooded with lust, looking up at him as he kneeled in front of Marcus. With his pale skin and cute, upturned nose. With his stupid smile that left Marcus seriously regretting all those years spent purposely making him frown. Because  _ holy fuck. I could spend my whole life watching him smile. _

Marcus sat up quickly, jolted by the sudden thought and feeling extremely uncomfortable with a semi under the table. 

He took a deep breath to calm himself and with a determined scowl he turned his attention back to the paragraph he was taking notes on. But after another minute, Marcus wondered what would have happened if he had gone to the game. Would Oliver talk to him? Would he sit beside him on the bench, in front of everyone? And would Marcus let him?

As Marcus pondered that question he could still hear the faint sounds of cheering coming from the window and so he was surprised to see Oliver Wood, walking out from the stacks and making his way to Marcus’ table. He was smiling but underneath it was obvious nervousness like he wasn’t sure how Marcus would behave. And it was odd to Marcus, seeing Oliver this way, watching him get nervous instead of him being angry or saying something rude like a wanker...Okay, fine. Usually, it was Marcus saying the rude thing first but  _ still. _ It was bloody weird and Marcus was torn between how he should act. 

Oliver sat in the seat on Marcus left and he seemed way too close for comfort. What with Marcus already half-hard, the feel and presence of Oliver so near were making it difficult to concentrate. Marcus shifted in his seat, subtly trying to adjust himself under the table. And if the quick glance to Marcus lap and the narrow of Oliver’s eyes was to go by, he already failed miserably. 

Fortunately, Oliver didn’t say anything, only pulled a piece of parchment and quill out of his bag making Marcus frown.

“Why aren’t you at the game?” He asked with furrowed brows. 

Oliver shrugged, “It was getting predictable,” He said casually though he wouldn’t look at Marcus. 

“And you just thought you’d come to the library and what? Sit next to me while I study?” Marcus realized his voice was coming out a bit harsher than he wanted but he was confused and didn’t like feeling vulnerable. 

Oliver looked up then and met Marcus’ eyes. “You think we’re fucking friends or something?” Marcus bit out, expecting Oliver to flinch back or look angry but the stupid wanker only smirked, shaking his head. 

“No, we’re not friends.” Oliver said and Marcus let out a breath. Not sure what he was feeling but knowing it felt like a kick to the ribs. 

Oliver continued with a small smile, “Marcus Flint doesn’t have any friends, he's too busy with quidditch right? Plus, he’s a bloody arsehole on the best of days.” He finished with a laugh and Marcus must have looked as confused as he felt because Oliver only laughed harder and nudged his side playfully. 

After a long moment, the smile faded and Oliver looked away. In a quiet voice, he said, “I know we’re not friends. But…” His voice trailed off as he bit his lip nervously, “At the match today,” he said slowly, “it was bloody stupid, but I, I just couldn’t--” He cut himself off with a frustrated sigh. Scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. 

A long, slow, silent moment passed until Marcus asked, “You couldn’t what?”

Oliver shot his head up and stared at Marcus before he said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He licked his lips and squirmed a bit in his seat, edging closer to Marcus, 

“All the time. I can’t bloody stop thinking about you.” He rushed, sounding both desperate and just as shocked as Marcus. 

It seemed without thinking that Oliver suddenly placed a hand on Marcus’ thigh. Marcus sucked in a breath, eyes locked with Oliver’s. He opened his mouth to speak, to say  _ something  _  but nothing came out and then Oliver licked his lips again, his eyes on Marcus’ mouth. 

He leaned in slowly and Marcus almost died. He couldn’t move as Oliver whispered in his ear, “I, I like you, Marcus.” 

He confessed, sounding nervous and scared but more so turned on, and his hand slid higher up Marcus’ thigh, his mouth never left his ear. Only now his tongue was tracing the lobe and then working its way behind his ear, leaving an opened mouth kiss before sucking gently. When his hand finally pressed onto Marcus’ hard on, Oliver moaned as if he was the one getting fondled up in the library and not the other way around. It made Marcus bite his lip and shift his hips up to press harder into Oliver’s hand. 

He was so turned on and getting really fucking close as Oliver sucked and mouthed on his neck. Oliver’s hand working quickly over his dick through the material of Marcus’ clothes like he was completely desperate for some form of contact. Marcus wondered absently if he was daydreaming still.

Oliver kissed along his jaw and up onto his cheek, _ "Marcus." _ He breathed hotly on his skin. Marcus restraint broke and he tilted his head to the side, their lips only lightly brushing against each other when footsteps echoed and the sound of students talking floated over to their half-hidden table behind the stacks. 

They both froze, “Fuck--” Marcus pushed Oliver off, who was practically in his lap. He took a long look at Oliver who was frowning at him with flushed cheeks. He wanted to say something. He wanted to kiss him, long and deep. He wanted to tell him that he liked him too. That he  _ really  _ liked him. But no words came. 

Instead, he packed his bag, looking around, making sure no one was watching and gave Oliver one last glance before turning to leave.

 

                                                               o0o

 

It was the fourth day of Marcus hiding from Oliver and making excuses to Pucey on why he didn’t want to eat in the Great Hall that Oliver finally tracked him down and cornered him in an abandoned hallway. 

Marcus tried to look angry and intimidating but he figured that didn’t work on Oliver anymore because Oliver just gripped his arm and pulled him into the nearest the room. Which happened to be a very small and dark broom closet. 

“Alright, out with it.” Oliver said, crossing his arms and looking at Marcus expectantly. 

Marcus shrugged, “I dunno what you mean.” He muttered, suddenly very interested in the ground. He was standing close to Oliver, mainly because the room was so small but he could feel where Oliver’s body brushed up against his own.

Oliver scoffed, “Come off it Marcus, I know you're a tosser but you're not  _ that  _ stupid.”

Marcus sneered looking up at him, “Gee thanks for the compliment. I feel loads better now.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, “You’ve been ignoring me for days now. Why?” 

“I don’t know what the fuck you're talking about.” Marcus said, his voice sounding hard and mean. Oliver let out an angry sigh.

“You haven’t been eating the Great Hall and every time you see me you practically run the other direction.” 

Marcus scowled, “Yeah, well maybe I don't like being molested in the library by stupid Gryffindors.” He practically yelled, feeling a bit childish but Oliver looked just as angry. 

“You’re such an arsehole!” Oliver threw his arms up, which didn’t really work in the enclosed space, almost hitting Marcus in the face with his hands. “And that's so obviously a  _ lie.  _ I mean honestly, you act as if I wasn’t there.” He said, suddenly standing with his body almost pressed into Marcus’, the tone of his voice dropped as he spoke, “But we both know you wanted it as much as I did.”

And it was true. Marcus had  _ really  _ wanted it. He  _ still  _ wanted it which was exactly why he decided to push Oliver away, making his back hit the door and spat, “Leave me the bloody hell alone.” 

But Oliver pushed him back, “No, you don’t get to just run away whenever you feel scared Marcus!” 

Marcus would have just left but Oliver was blocking the door and it's not like he really wanted to leave only that this was Oliver Wood and he was Marcus Flint. They hated each other. Or were supposed to at least. 

Oliver sighed bitterly to himself, “Merlin knows why I’ve liked you for so long, your a fucking dick.” The words weren't really meant for Marcus but he stopped dead when he heard them. His heart beating irregularly. 

“You-you liked even before...this?” He asked in a hushed voice, still not quite believing what Oliver was confessing. 

Oliver glared at him while biting the inside of his bottom lip, “You stupid wanker, I’ve been in love with you since I got on the team and we had our first match together!” He exclaimed, pushing Marcus back again. “I take back what I said before. You really are that stupid.”

Oliver left a hand on Marcus’ chest and Marcus reckoned he could feel how fast his heart was beating. It was practically jumping out of his chest. He swallowed hard, not quite knowing how to say the words he wanted to tell Oliver. But after what Oliver just confessed he needed to give something back.

“I--I feel the same.” He mumbled and Oliver pinched his eyebrows together in confusion. 

“What did you just say?”

Marcus rolled his eyes, “You bloody well heard me and I won’t say it again.” He grunted. Looking away with a scowl.

Oliver’s face broke into a grin and he practically launched himself onto Marcus, pressing his mouth hard onto Marcus’ with enthusiasm that Marcus mirrored as he wrapped his arms around Oliver’s waist and pulled him in close.

They stayed locked together for a long time and only broke apart when they heard footsteps in the hallway. Marcus was fully aware of the hardness in his pants and could feel that Oliver was just as affected.

Not really keen on having his and Oliver’s first experience to be in a cluttered broom closet he took a step back and caught his breath. After they re-adjusted their pants and calmed down a bit they walked out the door. 

Feeling happier than he’d ever been, Marcus grabbed Oliver’s hand and they walked down the hallway together, ignoring the few looks and stares they got. 

Marcus smiled a bit to himself, the warmth of Oliver’s hand in his own and knew everything would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the read! hope you all enjoyed the boys being adorable idiots :3


End file.
